Faith-iversaries.

One of the families I used to babysit for back in high school and college had a practice of celebrating their kids' spiritual birthdays. They treated them like actual birthdays with cakes and everything. I thought it was a great idea, probably mostly because I had no idea when my own spiritual birthday was. I know how old I was and where I was, but not until I get to Heaven and check out God's book will I know the actual date.

As you can imagine, being the lover of all the versaries that I am, this is disconcerting to me, but it's okay, because I remember a handful of other dates on the calendar that were spiritually pivotal for me.

Last Saturday was one of them. July 23.

I've talked about it here before on the blog, but it's been many years, so I wanted to talk about it again today. Especially since this year's July 23 marked twenty years since that pivotal day.

I was brand new in the grown up work-world, ridiculously shy and completely insecure in any skills that deviated from diaper changing and boo-boo kissing. It was my first job, and I was assigned the task of filing and opening mail, sorting through paperwork and occasionally answering the phone. I hated that part, because it required speaking. {As in speaking to another adult human. Terror of all terrors. My how times have changed.}

Craig was the assistant manager in the loan office/education-in-a-hurry where I worked. He was charming, something I could tell on my own, apart from the many young ladies who dropped by his desk to say hi. He found me intriguing, for some reason, and he spent his days trying to pull me out of my stare-at-the-floor shell. If he wanted my attention, he'd throw a jawbreaker across the room and wait for me to jump when it hit the corner of my desk. Then he'd ask whatever question, and we would talk for a bit.

I found out he had a son he was crazy proud of, and he was flabbergasted that I'd never before used a fax machine. Two random facts I remember from our conversations, only one of which means anything. Mostly I remember that he took time to notice me when I wanted to disappear into the wall and be invisible.

Just two weeks after I started working there, Craig took a week of vacation. I wasn't sure how I was going to survive a whole week of work without him, since he was really my only friend in the walls of the office.

I had no idea he would never come back. At the start of the vacation, he was in a motorcycle accident and despite my desperate pleas to the Lord to spare his life, he died.

On July 23rd.

That was the moment my faith became my own. That was the day I stopped flying along on the fringe of my parents' beliefs and decided for myself that I would follow the Lord even though I didn't understand His ways in that moment. That was the day I stopped fighting and started trusting in Him for myself.

Twenty years ago, now.

These twenty years have not been void of more days like that: days of question and doubt and wrestling. But those twenty years have been filled with deep trust even in seasons of deep hurt.

I still miss Craig, and I always will. But how grateful I am that he was part of my journey. I'm grateful I met him and that through his life and death, God did a settling and sustaining work in my soul.

A faith-iversary I treasure deeply.

 And appropriately...